A Little Light Music
by Arienrod
Summary: Sark angst. Building a world of illusions is hard work.


Strains of Bach flitted into the airy bedroom. It was morning, late morning to be exact, since the sun had already broken through the nearby mountain range to peak through champagne colored curtains. They really didn't need curtains. The air in the mountains was clear and crisp, refreshing really, and she barely ever got cold. Mountains of heavy velvet and satin encased their enormous four poster bed, to the point that the lithe redhead felt as if she were a bunny burrowing in for the winter. And it was always winter here. Wherever here was, it was certainly a close analogue to the North Pole.  
She sighed. For a minute, the music built in crescendo and she wondered if he was playing upon the beautiful grand piano that dominated the neighboring room. No, she decided, the music was too bright to be live. These past few weeks, his hands had only been able to pour out sad, heart-wrenching songs. She wondered what was disturbing him.  
"Andrew?" Though it was impossible to sneak in the massive stone castle (for she could not bring herself to call it a house, or even a mansion) with its high, arched ceilings where every sound echoed for miles, he started at the sound of his own name.  
To this day, in the 8th month and counting, Sark still could not get used to that goddamn name. Why Irina had insisted on a completely fake identity rather than one with some semblance of truth was beyond him. What with everyone insisting on calling him by his last name, Sark feared that one day, he too would forget his real first name. Perhaps Irina believed the lie must be absolute. Sark, would just have get used to being Andrew. If she found his surprise odd, she didn't show it.  
"Sarah. Have you eaten?"  
With just the two of them in effective isolation, Sark had worried at first at how they would survive. But she had managed to find a routine amidst the cavernous hallways, one involving numerous mundane activities such as breakfasting in the sunny piano room, lunching in the English garden (for mid-afternoon was the only acceptable time to be outside in this chill) and taking evenings in one of the hundreds of furnished rooms the house Irina offered contained within its walls. The adjustment for her had been but barely noticeable. Of course, she was Irina's daughter (not that he needed to remind himself, he need only look into her face) after all, and both were as adaptable as chameleons.  
"No." She was indifferent to his inquiry, but still bright-eyed and content at his concern. She gestured towards the state of the art sound system, this time pouring out its soul in Vivaldi. "Isn't it a little early?"  
He shrugged, and perfected an impish grin for her sake. "I thought something cheerful might be in order."  
"To mark what occasion?"  
"It's your birthday Sarah."  
Odd. It didn't feel like her birthday. It felt like every other day.  
"And how old am I?"  
The question cut like an arrow. She spoke so softly, so obediently, like a child parroting back a moral. Where was her famous drive? Her telltale spirit?  
"I told you Sarah, that you were 30. So today, marks your 31st birthday."  
"That is a milestone isn't it?" Again the words were tentative. She was looking for assurance. If only the old Sydney, the real Sydney, buried beneath this Sarah could see herself now. Alone in the room with the devil himself, and all she can do is question him like a child. Sydney would have turned over in her grave. Sark didn't like that line of thinking.  
"Yes, so we celebrate. I've packed us a picnic lunch, we'll go to the woods, weather permitting."  
She smiled. Such a genuine smile.  
"Andrew?"  
"Yes Sarah?"  
"Has my hair always been red? I mean, even before the accident?"  
"Well, if you dyed it, you certainly never told me. A man never questions such things you know. But by the looks of it, I should think so." There, another lie. Another lie to add to the million he had already told her.  
"Andrew?"  
"Have you always loved me?"  
A pause.  
"Yes. Yes I have."  
The truth. One in a million. 


End file.
